


Cleave

by Jessa



Series: HM Server Prompt Fills [12]
Category: Shadowhunters (TV)
Genre: Angst, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Self-Hatred
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-17
Updated: 2020-11-17
Packaged: 2021-03-09 20:15:14
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 500
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27601964
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Jessa/pseuds/Jessa
Summary: Alec is having some inglorious moments until Jace is there to comfort him.
Relationships: Alec Lightwood/Jace Wayland
Series: HM Server Prompt Fills [12]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1850245
Comments: 8
Kudos: 9
Collections: Hunter's Moon 500 Prompts





	Cleave

**Author's Note:**

> For the November 13th HM500 prompt, the dark forest pic, which I can’t seem to post and I don’t have the emotional energy to figure out what’s wrong with my HTML code altho I’ve tried several times so just trust me 🙈 it’s like... it’s just dark okay? 💙

It begins as a whisper. Just three words. Alec says to himself. Over and over again. No one can hear because the door to his bedroom is closed. And traffic outside is idling by the street-adjoining window. Masking sounds which might, by accident, slip above this whisper he’s maintaining. 

He’s so carefully trying to maintain a whisper. Even though the words themselves are so loud. He’s so carefully trying to ensure that no one overhears and yet he wishes so desperately that somebody would overhear. He wishes he could scream these things. Could splash them over a billboard. Could project them into the sky. Could broadcast them over satellites. Could make them visible from outer space. Could make them remembered throughout all time.

He could easily tell these things. He so easily could. He could open the door and scream them at the top of his lungs. Until his throat was red and raw. Narrow his eyes and make a target of the nearest organism with his screeching. Object. Make an object. Imagine it to be the things that box him in. If only those things were real. If only those things could be defined. And if only those things could be made a target of. 

Because that would be easy. Harnessing vitriol. That’s so common. Like oxygen. Water. Things to hate on. That would be easy. Making a target for anger. How to make a target. A target he could find the bullseye of. Breathe in, position, breathe out, and release. Fly like an arrow through the air. Pierce the heart of it. Splice it through, clean and true. Feel the edges cleave. Part for him. Make way for him. Accept him. Acknowledge what he feels. Say, _yes, Alec, you are here and I hear you._

_I hate you. I hate you. I hate you._

It ends with sleep. Hatred is exhausting. Alec sleeps until the traffic wakes him, he supposes. Maybe a larger than usual truck goes by. Maybe a smaller than usual vee-dub takes too long to change gears. Maybe his body just knows it’s had enough of wallow and self-effacing bullshit. Maybe it can feel the bond. Maybe it can feel Jace. Now he’s walked in the room and sat down beside him and started to stroke his hair. And say things like, “Are you okay?”

Alec doesn’t think he is. A fresh wave of water brims and spills at the edges of his eyes. His throat closes over again and his skin grows hot all over. All over except for where Jace strokes it when his fingertips renew the route they’ve been travelling. From his temple to the crown of his hair. Every time they touch to his skin it’s like ice in a heatwave. Alec closes his eyes each time. He breathes out. Merciful.

“No,” Alec whispers, just like he began but he’s found his tongue. Jace has coaxed that out of him. Just a little more than three words. “No, I’m not okay.”


End file.
